


When Words Fail

by goddity



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, therapy is fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-08-16 10:15:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8098258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddity/pseuds/goddity
Summary: Rodimus and Magnus have a lot of problems to overcome - a lot of the same problems. Will talking make them go away? What will be left between them when words fail?





	1. Skies We're Under

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LackingBinary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LackingBinary/gifts).



  
To say that Rodimus had a good understanding of how to lead would have been a gross over-exaggeration. Rodimus understood the principles that made a good leader, but it seemed that the principles seemed less good when they came from him. People didn't seem to like him as a leader, which made it harder for them to like him as a friend, which lead to nights like this. Tonight, Rodimus has scheduled a late-night appointment with Rung; an appointment that was late enough that no one would be awake to see him enter the psychiatrist's office. It wasn't as thought Rodimus had a problem with people knowing he needed help, but it could quickly become a problem for people when they realized that their captain (alright, co-captain) was making nightly visits to the only doctor on board who could deal with the sort of problems he was having.

And Rung, as ever, was welcoming and kind, no matter the hour. He'd welcomed Rodimus in, offered him a glass of energon and a seat, and said nothing as he sat down himself. Rung never prompted his patients to speak, never wanted to pressure them into talking to him. There had been a few nights where Rodimus walked in, sat down, and didn't say a word. After forty-five minutes, Rung would gently place his hand on his shoulder, politely alert him that his time was up, and walk him to the door while sending him the schedule that would allow him to make another appointment if he was ready.

So when the doors slid open and Rung welcomed him in, Rodimus was more than happy to take a seat. Things hadn't gotten easier since they'd taken off; lives had been lost, friendships destroyed, and most of the crew was coming to resent Rodimus. He couldn't blame them for that. He wasn't Optimus Prime, he wasn't even Megatron. He shouldn't have been leader. This was never what he had wanted. It wasn't what he had intended either.

"I hope you're doing well, Rodimus." Rung sat down across from Rodimus, a low table between them. The table, as usual, had a generous assortment of energon candies, a few sealed containers of high grade, and a little cup of rust sticks. Rung always went out of his way to make his patients comfortable, no matter how many times they insisted they didn't need it. Without fail, Rodimus usually had a rust stick or two and a little bit to drink. "Was there something you wanted to talk about tonight?"

"Uh, yeah." Rodimus was bad at starting. Once he got going, there were few secrets that he kept from Rung. He just had that _way_ about him. The sort of kindness in his optics that really made you trust him. It was infuriating, especially when Rodimus said more than he intended to, but Rung kept to his oaths and never said a word. Rodimus was thankful for that. It might have been Rung's job to keep their conversations secret, as it was any doctor's duty, but the Lost Light had more than it's fair share of slackers and rule breakers - despite Ultra Magnus's best intentions.

Right, Magnus.

"I wanted to talk about myself," Rodimus lied. Normally he'd lie through his dentae and talk about himself for hours. Rung was different, though. Rodimus felt _bad_ about lying to Rung. Rung didn't do anything to explicitly make people feel guilty about lying, he never even explicitly asked them not to. But Rodimus didn't like it. So Rodimus tried not to lie to Rung. Tried was a very important key word in this situation. Just like Rodimus knew he hated to lie about things, Rung knew when he was lying. Maybe millions of years as a psychiatrist gave him an inane ability to pick up on those kind of things. Rodimus didn't consider that maybe the little orange mech just knew him a little too well after the time they'd spent together on the ship. In truth, it was a mix of the two.

Despite knowing he was lying, Rung didn't press. Instead, he simply asked, "What specifically? What do you want to address today?"

Rodimus laced his servos together. Rung had once told him that lying stopped progress in their sessions, but if it made it easier for Rodimus to progress, he could lie to his spark's content. What did he _really_ want to talk about? The crushing weight of half the crew despising him? His inability to please his friends? The idea that Magnus would never be satisfied with his decisions - that he _desperately_ wanted to satisfy Magnus?

"Uh," Rodimus started again, confidence tapering out of him. Talking would be easy once he got going; it was always easier once he got going. "Actually, I want to talk about Magnus."

"Magnus?" Rung prodded politely. "It's been a while since you brought him up."

_With good reason._

"Yeah, he's just, uh been on my mind lately. It's hard for him not to be when he's right there, you know? I mean he's second-in-command, he's _always_ right there." Rodimus helped himself to a rust stick, twisting it between his fingers and trying to carefully choose what he said next. Everything was secret, nothing would be repeated outside this room, none of it mattered after the two of them parted ways until they came back together again. Rodimus could say whatever he wanted and no one would have ever known. Knowing that was the case.... Why not just come out with the truth?

"So, like, Magnus is always around, so I spend a lot of time with him, and.... And it's terrible working with him. Magnus has years and years of experience doing these kind of things. I've known Magnus a _long_ time. Long enough that I was Hot Rod. A _long time,_ Rung."

Rung did what Rung did best, listening in silence.

"And now, I don't even know how much of that was actually him. Actually Minimus Ambus. But... I don't care? I mean, you watch a person change over time and when they do you just start to see the them you see now as the them they've always been even when they make mistakes and do strange things, you just tell yourself 'that's who they are now, it doesn't matter who they were,' and you accept it and keep going.

"So now I've got all these things that I _thought_ Magnus knew and now I don't know how much he knows, at all." Rodimus twirled the candy again before taking a bite, remembering. Remembering arrests, remembering rescues, remembering Magnus's fury when Swindle got away _again_ , this time because of Rodimus. "And I can't just ask, I can't just say 'Are you the Magnus who would have traded me for Swindle on Earth? Are you the Magnus that watched me team up with Decepticons? Are you _a_ Magnus that would consider forgiving something like that?' And what if he isn't? What if it isn't Minimus that saw those things happen? What if he is? What if he still remembers all that and sided with me anyway, coming onto the ship remembering that I did those things?" Rodimus held the rust stick between his dentae, cupping his hands against the back of his neck. "I can't _ask_ him if he only came on board because Cybertron didn't want him."

"Rodimus," Rung started softly. "Minimus made the choice to come on board, as many of us did. You invited Cybertronians on board for that sole reason, because they didn't have to stay behind and serve a planet that didn't want them. You took on the unaligned, Autobots and Decepticons alike. If Magnus didn't want to be here, why wouldn't he just leave?"

"He's tried." Rodimus confessed. "He's tried, and I've managed to convince him to stay over and over again. He wanted to leave when we went to Hedonia. I think Swerve convinced him to stay that time."

Rung himself remembered a conversation with Magnus - one that had followed a conversation with Rodimus, one he'd be interested in bringing up with the load-bearer when his session came around.

"Then I have to ask, Rodimus, if Magnus is set on leaving, if he's thought about this multiple times, why do you ask him to stay?"  
A flood of answers fought to be the first to pass through Rodimus's dentae, but he kept his mouth firmly shut to take the time to sift through them and make the right choice. Honesty was supposed to feel like the right choice. Rung liked honesty. Honesty wasn't supposed to leave his office.

Rodimus looked at the clock. Slag. He'd barely gotten into this session and already he was close the point he usually made it to at the forty minute mark - close enough to the end of his session that he could leave and feel like he got something done without talking too much about it. He was actually close to making progress.

"....I've known Magnus a long time," Rodimus repeated, making an effort to keep back the other words that threatened to spill forth. "I don't want to lose him."

"Lose him?" Rung echoed.

"Half the crew hates me, Rung." The words stung in the armor of his palm. "And at times, I'm sure Magnus does too. Magnus... they've all earned the right to hate me. I don't resent them for that. But I don't _want_ Magnus to hate me. I don't want him to look at me and resent me for the choices I made. I mean, I'm _usually_ trying to do the right thing, and things have gone wrong but I've done my best to fix them. I don't want him to hate me. I want..."

Rung let the silence hang in the air. When Rodimus trailed off like this, it usually meant he was ready to change the subject. If that's what Rodimus wanted, Rung would let him do it. There _were_ times when Rung made a point of telling Rodimus things that he didn't want to hear, but this didn't seem like a session that called for that. There were a few sharp crunches of Rodimus finishing the rust stick, and the soft _click!_ of his vocalizer resetting before he finally spoke again.

"I think," Rodimus started softly, a blend of fear and eagerness flashing before he retracted his field beyond Rung's reach. "I think I want to court Ultra Magnus."


	2. Familiarity

Despite what Rodimus thought about Ultra Magnus's concepts of adership, things hadn't been easy for him either. Since boarding the Lost Light, the enforcer had found that there were too many factors to control and found that his obsessive compulsive disorder was causing more problems than usual. He'd been thankful when Rodimus had given him his own office - finally, a space he'd be able to maintain without interferrence or issue, until Rodimus started breaking in and moving his datapads. Magnus knew that it was a deliberate move, usually designed to keep Magnus busy while Rodimus did something _else_ unsavory, and unfortunately it worked every time. Things couldn't be out of place, not so long as he could put them back. Holopads organized by content, cups and utensils aligned, all handles facing right, chair precisely eight feet from the edge of his desk.

Everything had to be controlled. Well, a certain _level_ of controlled. Magnus knew that Rodimus couldn't control much more than his emotions, and even _that_ was a stretch at times. Someone had to go along on this literal fool's crusade to keep the crew in line. Someone had to keep the ship in repair, someone had to assign jobs, someone had to punish those who broke the rules, someone had to keep chaos at bay. It was supposed to be him. Lately though, everything seemed to be falling apart around him; the ship, the crew, the damn universe itself... Nothing could be controlled these days. Not even his office.

The only thing Magnus could count on to be consistent and controlled were the appointments he meticulously scheduled with Rung. He'd admit, when the voyage started, he hadn't seen too many benefits to taking a shrink on board. Too many variables, too many people that he'd thought were beyond help. Rung had shown Magnus something that most mechs didn't have the courage to - Rung showed him that he could be wrong.

Rung also made a very direct point of teaching Magnus that it was okay to be wrong. Sometimes, being wrong was important.  
Magnus had been, admittedly, wrong about a lot of things.

In truth, the more he thought about it, the more things he seemed to be wrong about. Often times, he felt that he had been wrong to come aboard the Lost Light in the first place. The journey had been an absolute disaster, and no one person was really to blame. It had been so much trouble, every day just seemed to get worse. Tensions were running high, they were way off course, people were _dead_ and nothing was going to undo the damage that had befallen the crew since their departure.

No one really blamed Ultra Magnus. If had to make a guess as to why, he would have reasoned that it was likely because it was his.... intimidating presence. The only mechs who ever had anything negative to say - to his face anyway - were Whirl and Ratchet. Rightfully so, in Ratchet's case; funds getting siphoned from the medical supplies to rations, to repairs the ship couldn't make on it's own, to the small excursions that took them further off course but gave the crew a chase to emotionally refuel. Drift was more than willing to dip into his unusually deep subspace and provide funds, which generally just provided Magnus with questions. The sort of questions that came up weren't worth asking, no matter the curiosity or the _very_ real potential that Drift had come across the money in less-than-savory ways. Arguing, however, led to the potential that he would have to enforce a law that would cost them the funding.

As difficult as it was, Magnus had to let the potential infractions slide.

Now, sitting across from the little low table covered with comforting treats, Ultra Magnus asked himself what it was okay to be wrong about this time. He had come today, three minutes early, as he always did. He had greeted Rung, as he always did, and then taken his seat, as he always did. As was their routine, Rung sat after Magnus, precisely four feet between them; two feet between each seat and the table, two feet of table and treats. Magnus didn't have to measure the distance and knew that Rung went out of his way to keep it consistent for Magnus, in the same way that he had the table organized in a very specific way: sealed containers of energon, to confirm they hadn't been tampered with; a small tray of energon candies, divided by flavor or color based on the selection Rung had available; and the rust sticks meticulously positioned in their little cup so they all lined the outer edge if there wasn't enough to fill the entire container.

Rung was very, very considerate of his needs.

Magnus casually considering asking Rung if kept things in a similar arrangement for other patients, or if it was just him. 

"Do you prefer that I still address you as Magnus?" Rung asked as he put aside his datapad. Magnus had once requested that he not add to his file or write anything until he left their session. After simply stating that it made him anxious, Rung had made efforts every session to respect his request. It was comforting that Rung didn't need to be asked more than once. There was a high respect that Magnus had for someone who could follow an unwritten rule. No one had _really_ asked him and usually referred to him by what armor he was wearing. That being the case, Magnus had just grown used to answering to what most mechs called him, which had only read to a few cripplingly embarrassing situations.

"Magnus is fine." He answered, taking the left-most sealed container of energon, as he always did. Rung always spoke first, always posed a question. It made it easier for him to start talking. He broke the seal on the energon. "I've changed the codes for my office door, in hopes of preventing Rodimus from going in and rearranging my belongings."

"I see. I wasn't aware he'd still been messing with your arrangements." Rung looked concerned, brows gently furrowed. "I imagine that's a bit of a setback when there's work to be done."

"There's _always_ work to be done." Magnus replied after taking a light swig of the energon. He'd personally spoken to Drift about giving Rung the funds to stock high grade. It was easier to relax when you were taking in better energon. It was nice to get to enjoy a nicer ration once in a while, especially since he didn't frequent the _incredibly_ illegal bar that served sweeter swill that was easier to stomach than some of the lower low grade. "And Rodimus knows that the easiest way to slow down the real work is to give me something else to do, and he knows that I can't _not_ fix my office."

"I notice, Magnus, that you tend to only blame Rodimus for these things. Doesn't Drift lend a helping hand at times?"

"A little too often," he grumbled. "But Rodimus is supposed to be _captain_. As third-in-command, Drift is supposed to answer to him. It's his duty to follow Rodimus's orders, even if they're as asinine as rearranging my datapads or taking my energon candies out my desk and putting them on the shelves."

Rung's expression softened. Rung had a _very_ good understanding of Ultra Magnus's obsessive compulsive disorder, of how difficult it was for him to function when any single thing was out of place, how _difficult_ Rodimus was making things for him. Rung folded his hands together, leaning forward as Magnus took another sip.

"Have you spoken to Rodimus, Magnus?"

Magnus scoffed in response. 

"I didn't think so." Rung sighed, adjusting his glasses. "I know it can be laborious and trying, but I have to continue to insist that you try talking to Rodimus."

"'Trying' would be a gross understatement, Rung."

"I'm... aware." Rung felt the sting in his wrists that he felt occasionally when Rodimus came up. Being used as bait was one way to gain the opinion that he was 'trying.' "But you're second-in-command, he values your opinion Magnus."

"I'm second-in-command so that when he doesn't like what I say, he can ask Drift. And when he doesn't like what Drift says, he can ask me. And when he doesn't like what we say, which is nearly always, he just does whatever wants. Rodimus always does whatever he wants. It's like trying to reason with a turbofox."

"Surely you don't feel like that's the only reason he put you in a position of power?" Rung prodded carefully. 

"Of course not." Magnus, half finished with the energon, placed the container to the far right, next to the rust stick container, as he always did. Routine meant things were okay. Following the routine meant things were normal. "Rodimus... Rodimus remembers old things, things that shouldn't be relevant anymore but he does. He forgets that people grow and change."

"So Rodimus thinks you haven't changed?" 

"Rodimus thinks I'm the same person I've always been, and the journey hasn't been easy for anyone. Rodimus doesn't think he's different either but this voyage has changed him too."

"In what ways?" Rung prompted as Magnus took another sip, prepared to finish the drink off, as he always did.

"He's grown up. Not in a good way. He wanted a harmless journey, like all of us did. It's been bad luck and chaos since we've left, from spark eaters to Tyrest. And every last thing has fallen on his shoulders, regardless of he was really to blame or not. It's a lot for the kid to handle. He... He can't bare the load."

Rung smiled softly, making sure that Magnus took note that he noticed the joke. Magnus was getting better at jokes. A little deadpan, a little rough, but he was going at his own pace. 

"And to add insult to injury," Magnus continued after another sip. "The crew blames him exclusively. For _everything_. As if Rodimus truly makes every decision without consultation."

"Why does it bother you that people blame him, as co-captain?"

"Because we're all to blame." Magnus confessed. "Megatron, myself, Drift, Rodimus - all of us have some part in the decision making. Well, except Megatron being brought on board. It wasn't so much a decision as a duty. He wants to be tried by the Knights and we're already looking for him, and it's my duty to see that it's done."

"Is that the only reason? That you feel partially responsible for what's transpired?"

"No," Magnus was quick to admit, another sip leaving the can empty and returned to it's original spot on the left, seal broken. "It's because Rodimus deserves more than the blame."


	3. Badly, Badly

  
Too often the two crossed past each other in the narrow halls of the ship, neither addressing the problems that weren't the occasionally out of place rivets or the continued occupation of Swerve's "incredibly illegal" bar.

Rodimus felt a dip in his intake whenever Magnus came into his office but not for the reasons he once did. Before, Magnus's entrances were coupled with anger and frustration that Rodimus had been prepared to shrug off and ignore. Something had changed recently, be it him or Magnus, and they were both painfully aware of it. Magnus seemed to ask less of him and delegate decisions to Megatron and Drift instead of burdening him with it - which Magnus had _never_ had an issue with in the past, no matter how badly Rodimus didn't want to do it. Scrap, he'd gotten used to pretending to die to get out of doing most of those things.

Magnus stood in front of him, a desk he'd meticulously carved over the course of their journey, a carving that Magnus had repeatedly scolded and chided him for despite it's usefulness. Magnus looked like he wanted to say something. Magnus _always_ looked like he wanted to say something, as though Rodimus's very existence was an affront to the codes he was supposed to enforce.

He knew they should talk. They both knew the should talk. Rather than talk, Magnus handed him a holopad across the defiled desk, and waited Rodimus to read over the repair reports that had taken place over the past few days. Magnus said nothing, hands politely folded behind his back at a parade rest. The war never left some bots.

"Uh, yeah, it all looks good." Rodimus muttered as he pretended to read the holopad. Drift would read it over later and start moving around that unusual horde of shanix he kept and all the problems would go away, like they always did, except for the problem of Magnus.

Magnus knew better than to think Rodimus was actually reading the reports. Despite that, everything was in order and nothing erroneous was added to the forms. Once, he had almost considered adding a fictitious charge to the receipts, knowing Rodimus wouldn't notice - _however_ , that would have been considered a felony as it was the altering of forms that could be used for tax expenses, and were also kept on record for Drift's spending and would have been a terribly cruel thing to do. He remembered how quickly he'd scheduled a meeting with Rung after that thought.

Both, in truth, had been thinking about the sessions. Words didn't come easily to either of them, especially not authentic words. Rodimus had once tried to get Drift to write him an apology for drinking too much at Swerve's instead of walking in an apologizing. Magnus had no problem expressing factual things, but emotions.... were not factual. Rodimus and emotions had that in common, and like Rodimus, Magnus found it hard to apologize. The young Prime's treatment by the crew hadn't been his fault, Magnus knew he wasn't responsible, but someone had to apologize. It seemed like it might as well have been him...

"Rodimus," His voice was too firm, maybe this had been a mistake.

Rodimus apparently noticed the firmness too, servos tightening a little around the holopad, expecting to be reprimanded for not reading the information, for having honestly been slacking off most of the morning and hiding under his desk when Whirl had come by asking about a repair that needed to be made to a habsuite door after he'd slammed into it in a drunken rage. He hadn't spoken to Whirl, but Whirl had made a point shouting into his office in case anyone was listening and could tell Rodimus later.  
"Uh, yeah?" Scrap, he sounded nervous. He hadn't _wanted_ to sound nervous, a captain shouldn't have been nervous talking to his third-in-command, _he_ put him in that position in the first place, Magnus should be more nervous not him, this was a disaster and nothing had even happened yet.

_Why_ was his vocalizer malfunctioning? Magnus kept resetting it, trying to cycle it and get the words out, but he just couldn't... they had to talk, something had to be said, they hahd to start somewhere.

"I..." This was an awful idea, he shouldn't have said anything, he shouldn't have started, this should be _easy_. Of all the terrible things mechs said so easily about Rodimus, why was saying something polite so much harder?

Rodimus looked quizzical. Of _course_ looked quizzical, Magnus realized as he stood tense with his servos folded against his spinal strut and his shoulders back. His optics still looked so bright, so bright despite everything....

"Rodimus," he began again, thinking that maybe making the statement about Rodimus instead of himself would make it easier. Rung had taught him that. "You... often take the brunt of blame on the ship-"

"-You're tellin' me." The young mech grumbled. Magnus forced back the urge to scold him for interrupting. Apparently the look on his face had done the job well enough because Rodimus looked a little remorseful at the decision to speak.  
"And it's been unfair."

"Huh?" Rodimus didn't think that this was the conversation they were going to have. Honestly, Rodimus didn't think that this was a conversation that existed. People weren't just going to tell him that things that happened on his ship weren't his fault - that'd be ridiculous.

"You haven't been more responsible than any of the rest of us." Magnus felt so remarkably nervous. This wasn't like drinking on Hedonia, this was sober conversation. Out of pride, he ignored the HUD warnings that he was overheating and that his fans should be on. Rodimus couldn't possibly get wind how how hard this was. This should have been simple. He wasn't dying. He'd confessed _far_ more personal things, granted with higher risk, with far fewer problems.

Rodimus looked as though the 13 had walked into his office to present him with an award for the "sickest" performance they had seen in their years of supervising meteor surfing. A farfetched scenario, but a reasonable parallel.

"I'm sorry, what?" Rodimus was dumbfounded. This was _Ultra Magnus_ , the only mech on board who kept a roster of who was actually assigned to what habsuite and every third solar cycle had people meticulous check in to confirm that's where they recharged. _Magnus_ , a mech who could mentally organize every single passenger on the Lost Light into categories based on their paint job, their function, and their cleanliness.

And Ultra Magnus was telling him that he.... wasn't awful? He thought that's what this was about. Rodimus always hoped that people were saying he wasn't awful.

"You... don't deserve what you get. And I can't believe I'm saying this, given your work ethic and behavioral history-" A sheepish grin from the hot rod. "-but in hopes of... lifting your spirits, and encouraging you do to better, against my better judgement... and numerous regulations... I'd like to treat you to a drink at Swerve's."

" _I'm sorry, what?_ " If Rodimus had even had the tip of a stylus in his mouth, he would have choked on it. His field spiked with disbelief and curiosity and... something Magnus couldn't put a servo on.

_Primus preseve me,_ Magnus begged. He wondered, a little too late, if the conversation would have been easier over a private commlink. It might have been easier if he wasn't starting the co-captain in the face, watching those stupid optics sparkle.

"You.... You want to take me out for a drink?" Rodimus chuckled, a chuckle that would have been more harmful if Magnus didn't feel the disbelief in it himself. He kept his own field tucked tight to his frame, an old habit. He wasn't build for that whole... empathy thing.

"It's nothing formal." He bit his glossa. It wasn't supposed to be casual either. This was _ridiculous_ it was just supposed to be a polite gesture to show Rodimus that he was appreciated despite the absolute nonsense that their journey had been. "Although most of what you do is.... 'taking a break,' I was under the impression you could use a _proper_ break. I won't mention paperwork," The notion stung to think about. He wouldn't have to mention the paperwork if Rodimus would just _do it._ "There's no business to be discussed. I know that even Drift makes an effort to keep you on task. This is an opportunity, and the only opportunity I intend to offer you, where I won't be making that effort."

Rodimus couldn't _believe_ his luck. Sure, it wasn't a real date to go where he ended up most nights, and it wasn't like Magnus was exactly offering to go to berth or to even have a real conversation - did Magnus know how to have conversations that didn't come back to 'the cause' or work? - but it was... it was almost a date! It had the chance to become a date, that was for sure. Magnus wanted to buy him a drink, not get him drunk, and give him a night off of work. Magnus wanted to give him a night off. 

If there was ever going to be a miracle on the Lost Light, Rodimus was certain this was it. 

"Uh, yeah, yeah. Yeah!" Rodimus tried not to sound too excited, dentae flashing in a grin that Magnus was all too familiar with; it was his trademark getting-away-with-it grin. Magnus's grimace tightened into a firmer line upon seeing it, but the corners... The corners almost played up in a smile. Did Magnus know how to smile? Rodimus supposed he would find out. "I'd, um, I'd like that. Sounds good." 

He couldn't believe it. He wondered if Rung had something to him about the courting. Of course Rung _wouldn't_ but this kind of behavior from Magnus.... neither of them were even dying. Sure, there was the ever-present threat of death, but no more today than yesterday or tomorrow. What could have come over him. Rodimus decided that it didn't matter. He finally had a chance. He might even convince the big blue to have a drink, maybe loosen up himself. Who knows what he'd say then? A few drinks himself, and he'd open up too. 

Of course, hopefully not... too much. 


	4. Another Mistake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'this won't end up having smut in it,' i told myself, lying blatantly

The door shut, the door locked, and Rodimus _burned_. His entire frame was on fire, it was heavy as sin, his intake bobbed, his fans roared, his optics nearly blurred with cleansing fluid - Magnus invited him out for drinks.

Never, _never_ , did Rodimus think this would happen. He was filled with ache and joy and anxiety and a slurry of emotions that he didn't think could combine. He held his helm in his servos, staring at his desk and hoping that he could cool fast enough that he wouldn't start to steam.

The mech he wanted to court, Ultra Magnus, Minimus Ambus, the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord, Second-in-Command of the Lost Light, wanted to take him out for a drink. Because he had been having a rough time lately. Because he needed a break. The cleansing fluid made good on it's threats, a few drops hissing against the heat of his faceplate before dripping onto his desk.

Rodimus had known joy millions of times. He'd been happy, he knew what it was like, but the time since they had left had been hell. It'd been hell, and he had to lie and keep going because that's what you did when you were a captian. It was what you did when nearly half your crew hated you and you wanted them to think that you might be able to make things right, even when you knew you couldn't You pretended, and you pretended, and you pretended, until you hoped that you could convince yourself that maybe things were okay. But things weren't okay, and Rodimus kept pretending to everyone who wasn't Rung. Drift knew that things weren't okay. Megatron knew that things weren't okay. Most mechs on board, honestly, knew that things weren't okay. Things hadn't been okay since they left Cybertron the first time. Ultra Magnus, _Ultra Magnus_ who had struggled so much along the way, with the threat of his own death, who had tried to leave only to stay for Rodimus, who put up with so much Primus-forsaken _slag_..... Ultra Magnus was trying to make things... okay-ish.

He put his hand to his chassis. Those flames felt alive now, spark threatened to melt alloy if it had to. Every inch of him ached and screamed and burned and _hurt_. Rodimus had felt quite a lot in his years online, but nothing like this. Nothing even close. The emotional cocktail threatened to destroy him. In hopes of quelling it, he helped himself to a little high grade he kept in his desk, for when the days were exceptionally rough.

The young co-captain wouldn't say he was _proud_ of keeping engex in his desk, but he was certainly proud of having the idea after the whole Sparkeater incident. It had certainly made a lot of other things easier. It at least made dealing with things easier, and hopefully, it would make whatever the scrap was happening to him a little easier too. It _felt_ like he was overcharged, but that was ridiculous. Right? It was ridiculous?

Of course it was ridiculous. In what universe would Rodimus end up overcharged from having a conversation with Magnus and getting asked out on a date? Okay, it wasn't _even_ a date. Even less of a reason to be overcharged. It was almost definitely not an overcharge. A ripple, a flash, something in his protoform argued. Something tickled against his armor.... Shoulder... Arm... Servos...

Rodimus shot it down with a hard swig of the harder stuff. He fought back the heavy burn that was leaking from his spark through his protoform and made a dangerous tease and his interface array. _Not today, Unicron,_ he threatened with another sip, trying to level his thoughts. It was rare that having a drink was a positive experience for him, or came from positive situations, so today was just full of surprises.

Ultra Magnus invited him to Swerve's bar for a drink. Unltra Magnus invited him to a highly illegal bar for a drink. He lazily tried to wipe at his optics, making a point of mocking himself for crying over being asked on a date.

 _A mech asks you on a date, and you cry._ He chided himself, a soft whimper of a vent trying to dissuade more of a leak. Rodimus had grown unfortunately used to bad treatment during the course of the journey. Sure, there were a lot of polite formalities, and a lot of mechs he would have called friends on board, but his job was stressful. People still blamed him. He _did_ deserve a lot of the blame, the whole fraggin' trip had been his idea. But it never got easier.

Rung had told him, once, that he needed to work on overcoming the idea that he couldn't please everyone. Rodimus would never, never, have the benefit of pleasing everyone on the ship. Not even finding the Knights and bringing peace to Cybertron could undo what he had done, what he had allowed to happen during the journey. Rung said it was okay to fail. Messing up was okay. By messing up, he was supposed to learn something. Like, he was supposed to learn how not to do something, or the way that some things don't work. All Rodimus seemed to learn was how to disappoint people. At least, that's what it had felt like.  
Even Optimus Prime... Orion Pax... Optimus Prime, had been disappointed. He'd told him he should have stepped down. He brought _Megatron_ onto a privately owned vessel and put him in charge. And Rodimus had let him. Rodimus looked his friends, the mechs he considered family, he looked them in the eyes and told them that not only was he letting the genocidal leader of the Decepticons on board, he was going to put him in a position of power.

The tears didn't stop but another sip of high grade helped.

 _How did I get here?_ Rodimus asked himself, looking at the bottle in his servos. He should have been celebrating, not crying. He vented hard, hoping to get most of the ache out of his system. Like the flick of a switch, Rodimus decided to turn off his bad mood. It didn't make things go away to ignore them, but he had too much to think about, too much to do, too many questions to ask to sit around crying and feeling sorry for himself. Stewing in those sort of feelings put a lot of stuff to risk, like getting caught crying with an overcharge and a bottle of high grade in his hand.

He _deserved_ to be celebrating. _Really_ celebrating. Not a 'we accomplished something' or 'the crew is feeling demoralized' or 'wow those meteors look perfect' celebrating, but real celebrating. Private celebrating. Celebrating that didn't require another mech to feel good. Rodimus didn't need another mech to feel good. He knew how to have a good time all by himself, and the burn that was threatening to devour him despite his pelvic array was insisting that he consider it.

Typically, Rodimus wasn't a fan of self servicing. Sure, it was probably great for plenty of mechs. There were lots of mechs out there who knew what they were doing, spent more time exploring themselves than other mechs, and Rodimus sure as slag wasn't one of them. He had, as Drift had once put it, more experience mapping a mech than he did mapping Iacon. He hadn't wanted to admit that Drift was right, but a talent was a talent as far as he was concerned.

He made a mental note that having a panic attack, crying, drinking, and then self-servicing was probably not a healthy sequence of events to follow Ultra Magnus asking him if he wants to go and enjoy a drink at Swerve's because he's obviously been having a hard time at work. While he would hav eloved to talk to Rung about it.... He absolutely hated the idea of talking to Rung about it. Secrets were a bad thing to have with his doctor, etc, etc, he _knew_ that, but he didn't imagine it was a great thing to tell Rung about.

Honestly, he wasn't that interested in thinking about Rung or what Rung thought at the moment.

Despite his better judgement, all he could think about was his appropriately fiery spark and the inappropriate feelings he had for Ultra Magnus. He traced his thumb over the label on the bottle. Magnus was a special kind of mech, no matter how much trouble Rodimus and Drift gave him. Unlike everyone else, except Rung, Magnus wasn't afraid to tell Rodimus what he needed to hear. Not always nice, but never cruel. Insisting and sometimes demanding, but never forceful. Mangus understood leaders; he understood the Primes. Magnus knew how Rodimus should be talked to. Rodimus was just too dense to listen. Rodimus didn't _want_ to listen. Knowing that, Magnus still wanted to help him.

Magnus, sort of, wanted to give him a chance.

 _Don't get your hopes up,_ Rodimus reminded himself. _He didn't say it was a date._

It didn't stop the burn, the tightness under his plating, the dull ache that made him want to ping Ratchet. He'd had plenty of flings in the past; Hound, Drift, Blurr, Perceptor, Gears, Blade, that boombox, that microphone, the leg, that cute blue medic from Vos, that cute green medic from Kaon.... More than his share, he'd admit, but this was dramatically different. None of them led to _this_. He clicked his fans a tick higher, hoping to dull the burn and dissuade the overwhelming charge that insisted on relief. It was generally an unsuccessful move.

Giving that he hadn't died from the overcharge, that the heat hadn't swallowed him whole, Rodimus took a moment to weight his options.

The first option: throw caution into the wind and self service. Not a terrible option, not really anything to lose, but it did entail coping with the knowledge he was self servicing to the thought of Ultra Magnus, in a scenario that was brought on only by being asked on a date. Not even a date. He wouldn't lie to himself, it wasn't as though it'd be the first time that he would self service to the thought of Ultra Magnus... He wasn't exactly proud of that detail, but when you're casually interested in a mech for millions of years, things come up. A lot. A lot of things come up all the time and you cling to every compliment and nice word and you store it away in your processor until you're alone and the doors are locked and no one is going to bother you and...

The second option: don't self service. Granted, not as great of an option with how intense the heat was getting and how Magnus had... Magnus had wanted to give him a day off. No one got days off. No one except the medics, which was more often just Ratchet screaming for people to get out of the medbay because 'a hangover isn't a real injury.'

He hated himself for favoring the first option. Another sip of high grade made him hate it a little less. Getting used to lower grade rations made the high grade seem that much stronger, and his processor was starting to swim a little. A good swim, a light float in a sea of neutral feelings while the bad ones were pushed deep down. Despite the hate and inevitable regret, Rodimus let a panel click aside and stowed the bottle away as his spike began to decompress.

In retrospect, he was glad he never opted for the customization of having flames painted onto his spike. It was still an admittedly garish thing, the same gold of his decorative flames, alternating with red bands and soft blue biolights that a partner once remarked were probably as bright as his spark. He remembered like that, whoever said it.

While his processor grappled with the guilty of self servicing on the job, at his office, to the thought of a lower-ranking officer, his servos grappled with a more pleasing concept. He sank back into his chair, content for a moment to reflect on the terribly questionable implications of what he was doing. Rodimus could feel the thrum of his spark in his spike, hot and demanding and desperate - not unlike himself most of the time.

He made a point of letting a fingertip trace along the soft ridges that separated his spike into bands, smirking in a classic case of ego-maniacal admiration. Usually he didn't get to take in the sights, there was always too much going on during interfacing, he kept busy. Just to be safe, he offlined his vocalizer. As much as he loved getting loud and rowdy, it wasn't really worth the risk of getting caught by someone _other_ than Magnus. Primus forbid that Drift burst in and caught him choking on the name of his second-in-command.

The idea played on his lips before he lightly dragged his dentae over them. Maybe it wouldn't have been the worst thing he could have gotten caught doing... It wasn't as if Drift didn't know he was an exhibitionist. And there... was the potential of being caught by Ultra Magnus.

Rodimus could imagine it - the absolute _fury_ at his lack of professionalism, the disregard for his position, and the way that Magnus's faceplates would glow at the sight of his equipment. Not because Magnus hadn't seen arrays before, surely he had, but Rodimus would make a point of onlining his vocalizer, apologizing between moans and hard vents, letting the officer's name play on his glossa...

He groaned silently, instinctive despite the silence. Broad strokes weren't quite enough, his body decided, the secondary panel making way and exposing his valve to the comparatively cold air of his office. Leaning back had been a mistake and only led to him leaning forward, helm on his desk as a hand dipped into an embarrassingly damp array. He laughed, or would have, berating himself for letting things get to this point. At least, for letting things get to this point over a mech like Ultra Magnus.

Magnus, who would have towered over his crumpled form, who wouldn't have had a singular positive thing to say about what he was choosing to do with his time, he was sure. Magnus, who would scold him and punish him and-

The charges surged under his plating, sparking beneath his servos and encouraging the burn. The burn was painful and sadistic and he was growing to like it. He bit down on his glossa, just hard enough. He could practically _hear_ Magnus. Wait, he.... he _was_ hearing Magnus.

Rodimus hadn't thought to close his commlink to keep anyone from bothering him. But Primus, if hearing Magnus wasn't exactly what he wanted right now.

 _[Rodimus.]_ Another inaudible gasp, the sound as fulfilling as the spike he was a little too eager to try. Magnus had a voice not dissimilar from his presence - strong, foreboding, demanding, and honestly favorable in Rodimus's perspective. Rodimus was willing to take the blame or the praise so long as it came from Magnus, most of the time.

 _[Ratchet has alerted me that Whirl might be en route. Apparently another altercation gone awry.]_ Slag, and the potential of getting caught? Rodimus couldn't have asked for a better finisher. Or an incentive.

The speedster vented, letting the audio drown out the sounds of overworking fans and the soft _schlick_ of transfluid as the tips of his digits sought out the more sensitive nodes. He didn't have to answer, did he? Granted, it was a commlink, he could piece things together before sending a reply. It didn't have to be rushed, Magnus couldn't see anything. Not unless he'd left up Red Alert's cameras and was still monitoring them after hours.

 _Primus_ he wanted Magnus to be reviewing them after hours.

Overload finally came, the sharp charges escaping in a short series of bursts, leaving Rodimus exhausted, dirty, and disappointed. Self servicing wasn't what he wanted. He regretted reminding himself that he wanted Magnus, and that he wanted someone to come and clean up this mess but had to do it himself. He said down, helm to his desk as he lazily withdrew his fingers, decompressing and shutting his panel with no particular haste. Whirl was probably going to get distracted on his way to the office, it always went this way.

Slowly but surely he as able to clip his fans lower without HUD warnings of his temperature, finding a cleaning cloth he kept in his desk for such emergencies, and throwing it onto the floor where he lazily moved it across the small puddle using his pedes.

While he had low expectations, he hoped that maybe having drinks would leave to a slightly different outcome.


	5. Just Drinks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoo boy  
> eventually i'll actually get somewhere with this, honestly this is already longer than i anticipated but i'm gonna do my best to keep it all good

It was _just_ drinks. Magnus had made the arrangements, a time and a place, he'd chosen his drink, he'd chosen the table, and now he just had to wait for Rodimus. He was waiting for Rodimus, and they were just going to have drinks. It was going to be fine. Rodimus just needed a little time off the clock where Magnus wasn't breathing down his neck to get him back on it. Magnus just couldn't mention work or the increasing pile of paperwork Rodimus had yet to do, or that Megatron appeared to be less lazy and got more done in less time, or that Rung had suggested that a night a Swerve's was a good idea. He didn't have to mention anything. He could just let Rodimus talk, and Rodimus wouldn't need much prompting to get going, allow him to be at ease for an evening.

Easy. Theoretically.

It would have been much, much, much easier if Rodimus was on time. He reminded himself that this wasn't work, this wasn't a formal engagement, this was... This was just drinks. Rodimus being late wasn't a big deal, Rodimus was always late, _despite_ the fact that Magnus always reminded him of the virtue of punctuality. Knowing Rodimus, he was caught up with Drift and swordplay, or illegally racing through the halls. Again. Paranoia started to get the best of him and Magnus wondered how likely it was that Rodimus wasn't going to show up, but instead use the opportunity to get away with things that he couldn't with the second-in-command in close proximity.

He hated himself for thinking it. He needed to expect more than the worst from Rodimus, Rung had told him. Expecting Rodimus to fail made it less likely that Rodimus would try, he'd said. However, when Rodimus was already avoiding the efforts to succeed...  
That wasn't true. Magnus stirred his drink, seven times counterclockwise, one time clockwise. Rodimus often tried harder than he let on, paperwork just wasn't his method of choice. Rodimus was impulsive and daring and because of that he rarely did things the way they were supposed to be done, but rather in the way that he thought they would go best. Magnus _hated_ it, but Rodimus tried. Rodimus tried hard enough that he was prepared to make everything right by every mech if he was given the time. He couldn't blame Rodimus for wanting the approval.

A soft roar of greetings flood his audials, signalling that it was likely Rodimus who had just entered the bar. His hunch was right and one look told him why Rodimus was late. It would appear that before he made his way to the bar, Rodimus had taken a little extra time off work and had touched up his polish.

He looked radiant. Magnus was thankful for the dull roar of conversation, knowing it covered up the click of his fans when Rodimus took his seat opposite the enforcer. Rodimus had always prided himself on appearances, he thought looking good lead to feeling good and this...

Well, Magnus couldn't say he was feeling bad.

"Sorry, I know I'm late." Rodimus grinned, dentae just as bright and sparkling as his spoiler. The only thing more shocking then Magnus catching a glipse of his reflection in the captain's chassis was that he was _apologizing_. "I ran a little over and I kinda knew I'd keep you waiting I should have commed you. Since you already ordered yourself something, I guess you're not _that_ upset, huh?"

"No." Magnus was surprised how even his voice sounded without a reset. He might have been able to get away with this. 'This' being the admitted attraction he was feeling for Rodimus. It was nice to see him taking care of himself, not that he would say that. "Honestly, I expected you to be late."

Rodimus chuckled, Magnus worried that it was already a misstep. He had to get better at filtering his thoughts before he spoke. Just because it had potentially hurtful didn't mean that Rodimus wouldn't laugh. He regretted the jibe.

"Despite that it.. isn't regulation, the polish looks nice." Magnus couldn't repress the need to mention it. A breech of uniform, no matter how appealing it was, was hardly appropriate for someone in a leadership position. If Rodimus went around breaking rules, everyone else would, and Magnus had enough trouble trying to keep the minor infractions in line. Policing paint jobs didn't seem like something he wanted to add to the list. He nearly choked on his engex considering the concept of stripping Rodimus of the polish himself.

It was inappropriate. This was just drinks.

Just drinks.

"Thanks." Rodimus signaled Swerve, knowing the bartender knew what he'd want and wouldn't keep him waiting. Magnus had agreed to turn a blind eye to the illegal activity, solely on Swerve's part, so long as nothing go out of hand. Apparently the threat decreased their wait time and had the speedster's drink delivered to the table.

Rodimus, fluorescent in the lighting of the distillery, was as boisterous as his choice of beverage. It had an admittedly impressive gradient, a soft transitions to blues to reds that Ultra Magnus deliberately ignored as symbolic. Even Rodimus's servos shone when he wrapped them around his glass, taking a sip through the thin straw and depleting some of the blue from the bottom. The second in command helped himself to a sip of his own, repeating his stirring routine after putting the glass down.

"So, uh, what's the plan Mags?"

"Magnus." Megatron might have let him get away with pet names, but he had a designation. Well, he had several designations, and _Mags_ wasn't any of them. "And no plan. Shocking, I know." Rodimus choked back a small laugh, lips turning up in a little smile. "Just the intention of enjoying a few drinks and...." _Each other's company?_ He couldn't just say that. This was just drinks! Just two associates, two higher commanding officers, two friends, enjoying drinks in illegal bar.

Rodimus didn't give him time to think of something to say, shooting off into a very excited story about some of the training he did with Drift.

"-and Drift _thought_ he had the jump on me," The only thing that ran faster than Rodimus was his mouth, and Magnus found it hard to keep up at times. "But he was wrong, see I leaned back on my heels, I made him think I was falling, and I shot forward, I used my elbows for support, and I shot _right_ between his legs, and I hit him right in the struts with the training sword. It was pretty amazing."

Rodimus made that _stupid_ face. He'd seen him use it on Drift. His smirk shifted, his optics narrowed, like he was the most impressive mech on the ship. It was charming. It was charming in the same way most younger mechs were; it was bright and shiny and confidant and always seemed to have nothing to lose. Magnus figured Rodimus had lost enough, had dealt with enough this journey, and made an attempt at the kindest gesture he could think of in response.

And Magnus smiled back.

Rodimus looked flabbergasted, like he had never seen another mech in his life. Magnus could have sworn he heard fans, probably just his own getting a little higher. He reacted so genuinely, Rodimus hid so little. He hid things, Magnus knew that, to keep up appearances and dissuade anyone from thinking something was wrong, but when Rodimus was emoting, it was so.... interesting. It was interesting to watch Rodimus move.

"Slag, Magnus, I didn't know you still knew _how_ to smile."

"Great party trick." One sip, eight stirs. "Do it once in a while, break it out and remind people I can, let them forget, let it become urban legend." He couldn't help but smirk. While more often than not Rodimus wasn't a fan of when he chose to use his wit, he always seemed to appreciate it.

"I'll say." Magnus hadn't noticed how much of the drink Rodimus had finished, Swerve placing a second next to the nearly empty glass before politely asking if they wanted anything else. Magnus waved him off, smile gone to solidify that he wasn't going to entertain keeping the bar open. An empty threat, but one he wanted to keep going. Once Swerve was out of range, Magnus was surprised to hear a soft ping over his commlink.

_[Can I ask you something?]_ Magnus squinted. Rodimus was right in front of him and using his commlink. He wanted to be frustrated, but Rodimus wasn't paying him any mind. He had his optics locked on his drink, stirring it gently and slightly disrupting the gradient.

_[[Naturally.]]_ What in the world would he possibly want to ask? Magnus felt his intake churn at the potentially intimate possibilities.

_[Are you.... Are you the same Magnus I knew on Earth? Like, were_ you _Ultra Magnus at that point. With... With the whole... Swindle thing.]_

Why did _that_ matter? Now of all times?

_[[Yes.]]_

_[Okay.]_


	6. Maybe More

  
How long they had sat in silence, Rodimus was unsure. Maybe asking Magnus about their past had been a bad thing. Rung always said that thing about moving forward, about not dwelling on the past, but the past _defined_ things and that couldn't really be ignored, could it? Magnus had fallen back into his drink, stirring absently in his silence. He was used to Magnus being quiet, Magnus being quiet usually met that he was forming together the perfect, well-selected string of insults and orders that he felt would spur Rodimus into action. Granted it didn't usually work, but this silence... This silence was entirely different. It was almost like Magnus didn't know what to say at all. Somehow, that idea stressed him out more.

Rodimus tightened his grip on his drink, staring into the depleted gradient as he worked on finishing his second. He usually spaced out his consumption, it was easier to socialize with everyone progressively getting more intoxicated but this was... This was supposed to _just_ be drinks, why not go hard and bail out early, treat himself to a nice recharge for once? His processor was already starting to swim, Swerve had overpoured his drink, just the way he liked it. He took note to leave the minibot a generous tip. After all, Magnus had almost certainly given him a hard time about the bar being operational at all.

 _[Right.]_ Rodimus continued over commlink, still struggling a bit to let some things be said aloud. Swerve's was a great place to be heard saying things you could regret later, especially since other people would remember. They always remembered something. Apparently, Magnus remembered things too. _[I'm... sorry. About all that stuff. I know I said sorry then, but I didn't get it.]_

Magnus looked surprised, a sight Rodimus wasn't used to. It really brightened up his face, more than the scowl he usually wore anyway. Rodimus mused to himself that he would actually go so far as to call it cute.

 _[You shouldn't apologize.]_ Rodimus felt the casing around his spark shrink. Talking to Magnus hadn't always been strsesful. When did it start being stressful? _[You wanted to go home.]_

Rodimus remembered his time on Earth more than he let on. He remembered Swindle's praise, he remembered Magnus's fury, he remembered how... how dangerously similar it was to The Lost Light. Friends turning on friends, his mistakes blowing up in his face... Why _didn't_ Magnus blame him?

 _[I should.]_ Rodimus thanked Swerve for a third drink while he whisked away the two empty glasses. Magnus was still on his first drink.

"Rodimus," The younger mech tensed when he heard Magnus's vocalizer. "I was furious with you then. I wanted you to be nothing but sorry. You didn't understand the gravity of your actions, or worse, you did and you ignored it for your own interests."

This was not the reaction Rodimus had been hoping for.

"However," There was always a 'however' when it came to Magnus. "I don't resent you for it. I... Wasn't right to treat you so badly. You wanted the same thing you want now. You wanted to go home and you wanted to be happy."

Eight stirs and the mist slicked expression that Rodimus could muster.

Ultra Magnus, previously the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord, was apologizing to _him_ , Rodimus, previously Hot Rod, and admitted to being wrong. Magnus wasn't generally a proud mech but he was less frequently a wrong mech. For him to admit it.... To say that _Rodimus_ wasn't wrong....

Well, Primus was handing Rodimus all kinds of rewards lately, it'd seem.

"Th... Thanks." Rodimus reset his vocalized repeatedly, visibly awestruck by the confession. It was strange, to have this conversation so many years later. Stranger still to have it over drinks during what Rodimus was fairly certain was supposed to be a little more than drinks. It was difficult to actually be forgiven, after everything that had happened, after everyone he had wronged and lost.

Eight stirs after a sip.

"I, uh, I'm trying to not do stuff like that." Rodimus continued, knowing that it was an unconvincing statement. Racing in hallways and meticulously placed graffiti was a pretty good argument as to how he wasn't, but in truth, Rodimus _had_ been much worse. 

"I'm kinda getting better."

"I know." Magnus's tone was... Softer than usual. He sounded... Sincere? Not that Magnus was typically insincere, but the softness that crept at the edges of his words was unusual. At least, it was unlike Magnus. Softness and the big blue enforcer didn't generally go hand-in-hand, and it truthfully made Rodimus a little nervous.

The pressing concern became whether or not he should bring it up.

Immediately, Rodimus felt concern flood his processor. Magnus had invited him for drinks; Magnus had been patient and didn't leave when he was late; Magnus had forgiven him, said he hadn't been wrong. He was being gentle, and kind, and soft - the sort of things that came before terrible news.

"So something is wrong, right?" Rodimus put aside this third emptied cup. "You're being pretty casual, which isn't awful but isn't normal for you... So what's happened? Engines failing? Another sparkeater?" Rodimus pressed a hand to his helm, ache replacing that concern in realizing, realistically, it might have been more than just drinks.

Magnus looked terribly uncomfortable, an easy expression for Rodimus to recognize on his face. It was the sort of look he got when Magnus caught him rearranging his desk to distract him, or when he came into Swerve's to talk about something important because Rodimus wouldn't answer his commlinks. Rodimus might have made a bigger mistake than he intended. It was hard for his choices not to lead to some form of mistake.

He folded his fingers into a little steeple, thoughtful. Magnus was usually several steps ahead of Rodimus, already having those ever-so-carefully selected words that would spur Rodimus towards the emotions that Magnus usually wanted him to react with. To see him have to sit there and think, to have to rearrange words, to have to select new words, didn't bode well with Rodimus.

How bad could the news possibly be?

His head said _bad_.

_[[No.]]_

Rodimus flinched in surprise at the sudden ping in his commlink. Magnus was generally collected and thoughtful, not the sort who had to communicate important things nonverbally. For him to say that nothing was wrong made the entire situation look exceptionally bad.

 _[Then what?]_ He burned, he ached, the engex coupled it hi his already moderately unstable emotions and was making this conversation harder and harder to have. It didn't use to be hard to talk to Ultra Magnus. When had it become hard?

 _[[...]]_ A small repeating ellipsis flickered in the corner of his optics, showing him that Magnus was sharing a frequency despite not transmitting any real information.

 _[[Rodimus,]]_ Even his comm was soft, he extended his field, wrapping Rodimus in a soft embrace of fear and concern and... And? _[[This might be about more than relaxing and drinks.]]_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoo boy this took ten million years and ain't all that long, but hopefully the next chapter will make up for all that


	7. Saline and Solutions

The stench of saline solutions and cleansing fluids were overwhelming in the medibay, enough so that Magnus felt the need to temporarily disable olfactory sensors. Ratchet had pride in preserving the sanitary standards of his work place, and not simply because of how strictly Magnus would have enforced it. The medibay was usually in top condition, only lacking when it was filled with too many mechs for Ratchet and First Aid to focus on anything that wasn't immediate.

The medibay was surprisingly empty this specific morning, atypically free of the bots who came in and begged for boosters or painkillers after having a few too many Swerve's and being unprepared for the hangover. Magnus had to admit that he took a certain pleasure in seeing Ratchet deny them medications, but was more thankful that the medibay happened to be empty when he needed treatment. While seeing Ratchet was significantly easier than seeing Rung, he could only imagine the whispers that would leak through the ship if he was seen trying to get medical help.

Typically, Magnus didn't care about rumors, but apparently they had been seeping out of a strictly illicit bar after he'd been seen drinking with Rodimus; ranging from that the two were engaged in courtship to that Magnus was _dying,_ the latter being more popular given that he was seen as having a 'no fun allowed' policy.

First Aid gave him a holopad with a form to fill that was supposed to include a myriad of information; alt mode, symptoms, age, conjux status, amica if applicable, and some miscellaneous information. After filling it out, he returned the holopad to First Aid who politely escorted him to an observation table with a pale teal privacy curtain, and offered him a small glass of energon. Magnus took it thankfully, surprised to see that it was a slightly higher grade than what he usually rationed for himself. It seemed appropriate, knowing how many mechs found medical treatment to be stressful and would probably benefit from a glass of mid-grade now and again.

Ratchet was dawdling, but seeing as Magnus was the only one in the medibay and Ratchet was one of the single most experienced and talented medics known to Cybertronians, waiting politely seemed the most appropriate course of action.  
"So what _exactly_ is the problem, Magnus?" Ratchet sat in a low chair opposite of the observation table. Despite that First Aid had requested he fill out a form, which he had done in duplicates for safety's sake, Ratchet reviewed each piece of information with him as it had appeared on the sheet. A usual and anticipated reaction from a medic; there was no reason to miss any information or symptoms, but a mild nuisance for someone as meticulous as himself.

Naturally, he responded as expected, with a repeated list of his symptoms.

"I'm experiencing nausea and some fatigue, although my rations have gone unchanged and I haven't changed my routine." Magnus lightly drummed his servos against the tablet. Pointer, pointer, middle, ring. Three times repeated. "Initially I had been under the impression that it was a result of a generous intake of engex, but the feelings have persisted over the past few solar cycles and I've got concerns that it might be an onset of more serious symptoms or a more dangerous condition."

Ratchet peered down at the paper, seemingly disinterested. Ultra Magnus knew better than to expect real disinterest from Ratchet in the field; he was a talented medic with an uncommon passion, despite his less than favorable bedside manner. Although, a brash and honest approach was what most mechs on this ship needed, and Magnus imagined that Ratchet was the best choice, even without his obscene medical prowess.

"Nausea, fatigue, overheating, fans stalling, and all under what conditions?"

"Conditions?" Magnus repeated. Ratchet was being unusually patient. Magnus imagined that it was half his rank, half his infrequent visits into the medibay.

"It's been happening the last few cycles, you said. Is there something specific that happens that triggers your symptoms, or are they consistent? Are you experiencing them after recharge, after fueling, while working?"

There was a heavy churn in his tanks. It was easy to be honest with Ratchet - lying to a medic was incredibly dangerous for dozens of reasons, and illegal in certain cases - but the words came no easier despite the ease of honesty. In this very specific case, Magnus considered the concept that living with the symptoms was almost more bearable than confessing the situation to Ratchet. Almost.

"It's all...." Magnus gestured vaguely with his hands, realizing quickly that they very unimpressed expression on Ratchet's face that it was not easily understood. He gathered his thoughts, hands returning to the table. Pointer, pointer, middle, ring - three times in order. "Frustrating."

"So it's coinciding with your temper?" Ratchet was patient and meticulous with his line of questioning. Ultra Magnus was thankful that at least the medics were thorough when it came to their jobs. At least _someone_ on the ship was seeing their duties done consistently and properly.

"No," Magnus responded with a sigh. Honesty was the best policy. "Lately, I've been finding that when I think of a... Specific mech, the sensations gather all at once. It's becoming a rather serious distraction."

Ratchet put the holopad aside, placing his elbows on this knees, folding his fingers into a pyramid before hunching forward a bit. A thoughtful position, if nothing else.

"You experience nausea, overheating, your fans stalling, and fatigue when you come into contact with a specific mech?"

"Yes." Magnus was thankful that his information had been well received. Or at least, that it had been easily understood. Ratchet was thinking very deliberate, optics lost in a thousand-yard-stare that usually meant he was compiling a list of possible diagnoses, though in his experience he'd seen it happen faster. Either it was a very unusual combination of symptoms, or there were quite a few viable options.

Magnus found it hard to ignore a dull heat in his faceplates, and a bit more unusual that he could notice a similar presence of pigment in Ratchet's. Ratchet lifted his head, giving his chair a sharp spin so his back was to the blue mech.

"First Aid, would you come over here?"

First Aid appeared to have been organizing a selection of holopads, a usual duty he was placed in charge of. He placed a few on the medibay desk before heading over, changing out a pair of gloves for a fresh set. Sanitary habits made for a sanitary space, and there was nothing Ultra Magnus liked more than a sanitary space.

"If you'd be so kind to share your symptoms with First Aid, Magnus."

Ratchet turned back to face him, expression unchanged and plates still lightly tinted.

First Aid's presence meant one of two things; it was potentially a very serious diagnosis that Ratchet wouldn't just hand out without a second opinion, or that it was a moderately simple diagnosis that he wanted to be sure First Aid would understand. Training the younger mech to take over for him, Ratchet had to be sure that simple symptoms didn't go over his head.  
There was no reason to worry, realistically, about First Aid's presense.

"I'm experiencing nausea and some fatigue, although my rations have gone unchanged and I haven't changed my routine." Pointer, pointer, middle, ring. Three times repeated. Just like the first time. "Initially I had been under the impression that it was a result of a generous intake of engex, but the feelings have persisted over the past few solar cycles and I've got concerns that it might be an onset of more serious symptoms or a more dangerous condition."

He remembered the other things he had told Ratchet. "Lately, I've been finding that when I think of a specific mech, the sensations gather all at once. It's becoming a rather serious distraction."

Choosing words so carefully made it very easy to repeat them, and insured few miscommunications or mistakes. First Aid shifted uncomfortably, either entirely sure or completely unsure of the diagnosis. Magnus wasn't sure what condition he preferred better.  
Ratchet glanced over his shoulder at First Aid.

"Go on." He gestured at Magnus on the table. "Tell him."

In his years of service, Magnus never saw a pair of faceplates burn so bright.

"M-Me?!" Magnus repressed the need to remark that sort of behavior was incredibly unprofessional. First Aid twiddled his thumbs, spinning them in frantic circles between his servos. Maybe this was going to be harder than Magnus had anticipated.

Maybe the problem was far more severe than he had anticipated.

He felt his intake dip, the nausea swelling and flooding his processor. It very quickly became hard to think of anything except the illness that was threatening to overtake him. He hadn't purged his systems in.... In how long?

"You have to get used to this sort of thing." Ratchet stood, excusing himself and leaving First Aid and Magnus alone with a wheeled stool between them.

Ratchet's decision to leave was _not_ making the situation better. Magnus tried to soothe himself by processing the reminder that First Aid was perfectly qualified. Ratchet intended to have him replace him as Chief Medical Officer - no small duty for such a small mech. First Aid took Ratchet's seat on the stool, closing the space between them and clearly trying to make himself more comfortable.

"Well, Magnus, according to your described symptoms... It sounds like anxiety?"

" _Anxiety?_ " Magnus had heard ridiculous things before, but for anxiety-based physical symptoms to start showing themselves this late into the journey-

"Well, it's _specific_ anxiety, Ultra Magnus." First Aid was growing more visually uncomfortable by the second. "What you're experiencing sounds like... Well... It sounds like you're experiencing anxiety attacks that are driven by..." First Aid took a moment to collect himself. Magnus could nearly hear his vocalizer resetting in the for-once quiet medibay. "Experiencing arousal."

In that moment, if Ultra Magnus could have wished for anything, it was that he could offline permenantly and that the crew would do him the service of throwing his corpse out of the airlock and never speka of any of his exploits ever again. Instead, he shuttered his optics, slowly processing that after everything that happened since leaving Cybertron - a plague, a sparkeater, Tyrest, the DJD, _Megatron_ , time travel - the thing that drove his body to a breaking point, what made him so anxious that it made him physically ill, was the thought of wanting to interface with Rodimus.

Magnus could think of nothing useful to say in response.

"Seeing as you're having issues with symptoms, I'm sure Ratchet or myself can talk to Rung for you and get some anti-anxiety medication. It'll keep you from reaching this point, and generally make you less anxious... It might go a long way, given how you're kinda running the ship. I mean, with Rodimus being Rodimus I know it's not easy. Rung wouldn't be one to object either, I don't imagine." First Aid kept going. Magnus was unsure if it correlated to First Aid being terribly uncomfortable, or if it was an effort to make a patient more comfortable. "If you want, I'm sure we can just contact him directly and keep you from having to go to an additional appointment with him and get the approval to come back here and get it from our storage."

"Uh, yeah. Yes." Magnus knew that First Aid had a good solution and should be told such, but the blue mech was having a hard time thinking about much of anything aside from how much control he'd lost over his own fragging life.

He wished he'd just researched it himself. No, there wasn't really much reason to be ashamed when talking to a medical professional; they had seen, heard, and experienced much weird things than Magnus could dare to imagine, or would have if he hadn't been the one to have to escort rabble=rousers to the medibay. It didn't quell the gnawing sensation that this sort of realization was supposed to be embarrassing. Most mechs just ran off for a frag or self serviced when they needed to decompress - oh, but not _you_ , Magnus. Apparently, all versions of fun and relaxation are some form of stressful for you.  
And apparently, now that includes interfacing.

"I'd be thankful for the medication." Magnus mumbled, more thankful that they had respected his privacy and avoided asking about the catalyst for these feelings.

First Aid was helpful in taking down some information, comming Rung and giving Magnus a bit of privacy while the two doctors worked something out.

He held his helm in his hands, wondering how Primus would have let it come to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is just getting longer and longer and i'm only a little sorry


	8. Two Parts

It turns out that heavy drinking with a mech that you intend to romance can go somewhat badly and there’s the potential of having to confront the fact that in your drunken stupor you made numerous poor financial decisions. At least, it appeared to have been a theme with Rodimus. After his night out with Ultra Magnus, which he found he remembered very little of after the excessive amount of drinking he did, it appeared that Rodimus had gone out of his way to make deals with some of the bots on board to buy some of the essentials of courtship. Or, at least, things that felt essential and three small stacks of data slugs that Rodimus was nervous contained illegal materials. 

 

Picking through his purchases, he was surprised to find that, for the most part, he had bought things that pertained to the rituals he was familiar with home on Cybertron: paint, energon candies, high grade, a holopad with a list of tasks, and a book of old poetry. Rodimus had been thumbing through the pages, shocked that he had even managed to _find_ a book on board, let alone find one while intoxicated. He felt a churn in his tanks when he thought about how much shanix he’d owe Drift for all of the transactions. Worse than owing him the money, he’d have to _tell_ Drift what all the stuff was for. Drift wasn’t foolish, he’d know the moment he saw what Rodimus had bought what he was up to. It would, naturally, lead to the question of who. Rodimus would be expected to answer. He shut the book at the thought, considering just stowing the goods away and when Drift inevitably asked, say he’d given up on his efforts to court the mech who’d stolen his interest. It, unfortunately, brought up a thought he hadn’t given much consideration before - what if Magnus refused him?

 

Typically, when the courting process was started, it was started under the grounds that two mechs had already consented to a relationship and that there were actual grounds for courting. Most mechs didn’t so blindly begin the process without being sure that their efforts would be reciprocated. Though, here Rodimus stood, paint and poems aside like someone who might have been sure. Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t even sure how to start with a mech who had any kind of romantic interest in him. Well, he was sure there was _something_ there. Rodimus had been ogled by his share of mechs, he knew an interest when he saw one, and the look Magnus had given him when he walked into Swerve’s? He knew that kind of look. He felt the ache in his spark thinking about it, the way he knew Magnus had to drink in every inch of his fresh polish and stay professional. He thumbed the corner of the book, thinking about how many mechs had given him that look and how many times it had meant nothing. He pushed aside thoughts of self servicing _again_ to the thought of his second-in-command. 

 

He couldn’t let Magnus serve as a distraction when he wasn’t even actually working, it wouldn’t give him an excuse to have a reason to slack off later. 

 

Rodimus sat down with the little wells of paint, opening each and testing the colors on his fingers. He remembered seeing mechs during the war who still wore their conjux’s glyphs, some who even had them permanently detailed onto their armor. The speedster casually wondered if Magnus was the sort to make a grand gesture like that, if he’d even wear the glyphs through the courting as was traditional. It _would_ be considered a breach of uniform, and some even considered it a mess, and if there was anything Ultra Magnus hated more than Rodimus refusing to officiate forms, it was mess. Rodimus had never prided himself on his painting or any form of creativity that wasn’t a deliberate action to avoid doing work, but indulged himself in imaging that maybe his glyphs would look good enough that Magnus would wear them throughout their courting. It seemed there hadn’t been a wide variety of paint available and Rodimus had ended up almost exclusively with shades of pink and purple. He couldn’t remember who he’d even bothered to buy them from, so there was no way of finding out if he could get more. When it came up, he didn’t exactly like the thought of going back to the bar and asking anyone if they knew because, naturally, he had been too drunk to remember who he’d done business with. 

 

It also occurred to Rodimus that he didn’t really recall how he got back to his room after the events of that night. If Magnus had been his escort, as he usually was after a few drinks too many, he would have been aware of the purchases, wouldn’t he? Did Rodimus have the foresight to make the deals over commlink? He rubbed his temple thinking about it, exhausted at the thought that Magnus could be aware of the entire situation and purposefully ignore Rodimus. Not that he would do it to upset the co-Captain, Magnus wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t unthinkable that a drunken Rodimus would mistake flirting and flings as an invitation for courtship. He felt a dull ache thinking that Magnus had no interest what-so-ever, that the blush he’d noticed at the bar could have been for any well shined mech who walked in with his confidence. _But it wasn’t_ , the little voice at the back of his mind egged. _It was you._

 

The speedster shifted his hands, admiring the pigment in the light. When all was said and done, it appeared to be high quality paint; a little iridescence, a bit of a glittery shimmer, something that would be easily identified as…. Well, as courting. If Rodimus got up the nerve and actually approached Magnus with it… His intentions would be transparent. He would hardly have to say anything, surely, a mech like Magnus would catch on, he’d know!

 

He capped the paints, dragging his servos through the marks he left on his palm. It was hard to remember the glyphs he’d seen back on Cybertron, before the war. Everything in Nyon had been so… Red. The red of rust, of fire, of decay; it was uncommon to see softer, warm colors. Colors like purple, like blue… Like green. 

 

Rodimus drug the paint along his palm, onto his armor, swirls and symbols and shapes blending in shades of pink and purple that blended and blurred together in ways not unlike the skies he remembered. Not that the stars weren’t beautiful, but there was something different about the sky itself. The stars shined but couldn’t do it without the dark backdrop of the sky, eager to help them shimmer and gleam, the ultimate wingman. The colors has slipped up his armor, to the joint between his bicep and his forearm, dripping onto his fuel lines before Rodimus realized that he had continued moving the pigment around. He felt his faceplates heat, remarkably pleased with his work despite the embarrassing lack of focus. At least he knew that the paint was high quality. Better than he’d thought, anyway. He casually wondered who he’d purchased the paint from in the first place, knowing that some could potentially have had plans to court someone on board during the journey. It was probably Chromedome or Rewind; the two may have finished courting, but they were a pair tighter than _conjux_ and _endura_. 

 

The speedster had to admit, he was envious. 

 

His engine audibly revved at the realization that, potentially, possibly, he could be seen in the same light, with _Ultra Magnus_. With Minimus Ambus. He felt a smile peel across his face as he picked up a spare blanket from his berth and began absentmindedly wiping the paint away, uselessly smearing the wet pigment over the cloth and clumping the tacky paint into useless masses. He groaned, leaning back onto the recharge slab and looking down at the paint.

 

Maybe it would have been worth trying to find silver or gold paint, for stars to dance between the glyphs. He didn’t mind being a bit of darkness to let Magnus shine. Just every once in a while.


	9. No Clear Cut Solutions

Rung’s office was as meticulously arranged as ever, rust sticks and energon candies and high grade arranged in the same way it always was when Magnus came around. He took his seat, as he always did, just before Rung took his, as he always did. Rung set aside his holopad, step after step in the routine going easily. Ultra Magnus was thankful that _this_ part of their session was going well and easy, given what he’d intended to discuss. 

Fortunately, Rung was patient. He always was, but Magnus found that he was a bit inhibited when discussions of… Attraction came up. Fun was hard enough and he had the processes to run those. This? This, however, was unprecedented. 

He realized, however, that it might have been more beneficial to talk to Rung instead of asking himself questions and knowing he didn’t have answers.

“A short time ago, I found myself in the medibay.” Magnus gripped the bridge of his nose, realizing that Rung would have been aware of the fact he’d sought out medical treatment, seeing as he had approved the prescription of anti-anxiety medications. “I realize you were involved with decisions on that front, though I know First Aid was unable to give you details given his legally required confidentiality.”

Rung nodded. “Yes, he appropriately kept any details from me. However, I felt, given my notes from your sessions, that you would likely benefit from them. Especially given that First Aid and Ratchet seemed to share the view.”

Magnus hesitated. Honesty was the best policy. There wasn’t a reason to keep the truth from Rung. And while he was reluctant to admit it after centuries of not having it, the medication was making things much, much easier. 

“No negative reactions to it, I’ve heard.” Rung prompted gently. “Ratchet asked you to report in if there were any issues, and given that you haven’t, I assume the medication is working?”

“Yes.” The ex-Enforcer had struggled a little at first with coming to grips that the medication had been helping. “It’s been… Pleasant. Surprisingly so.” He felt almost a twinge of pride. Almost. “The injections have done quite a bit for my processing, less seizing up, less of a swimming sensation in my spark. Decisions more easily made. I could name a few instances where I could have used it sooner.”

“I’m happy to hear!” Rung beamed, the soft glow from his spark visibly increasing. It was so easy to see the pride he took in helping people. Magnus had forgotten what it was like to love his position. He was thankful the medicine was making it easier. 

There was, however, one thing it was not making easier.

“Yes,” The wind quickly left Magnus’s sails. “However, I am still…. Struggling, with something.”

Rung adjusted his glasses, sitting forward, as alert and willing as ever to listen.

“I’ve been…. Dealing with…” Magnus sighed, holding the side of his helm. He wasn’t built for this sort of discussion. “Emotions. Specific emotions, about Rodimus. It’s becoming difficult to consider confronting him, or… Continuing interactions after our evening out.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow, Ultra Magnus.”

He felt a hot steering pain in his faceplates. Articulating the words had hardly been required when communicating with Ratchet, but things were often more difficult with Rung. While giving him more information was critical for accurate treatment, it made unnecessary information much more difficult to share.

For instance, that on top of every other factor that stressed him out on the Lost Light, among them was his own sexual and romantic attraction to Rodimus. 

“The feelings,” He tried to explain, “That I’ve been having for Rodimus have been unprofessional. Exceptionally unprofessional.” Magnus imagined, coupled with the bright flow of his faceplates, that his implications were rather clear.

Rung, thankfully, seemed to pick up on the implications.

“You’re not an Enforcer anymore, Magnus.” Rung spoke gently, knowing the issue still stung a bit. “It’s perfectly fine for you to feel such things. The ship belongs to Rodimus; we’re not _truthfully_ an Autobot vessel. There’s no reason not to pursue this interest if you so desire.”

“That’s not entirely the issue.” He confessed. “I… Fear I’m a bit unfamiliar with this sort of thing. Not courting explicitly, information is easy enough to come by and I know few mechs who aren’t aware of the process.”

“You see,” He attempted to continue. “It’s not simply the procedural actions that come with courting. Don’t misunderstand, it’s not as though any of _that_ comes any more easily. It’s another matter entirely that seems to be baring my progress.”

The doctor politely said nothing, waiting for a bit more information before coming forward with suggestions or ideas. 

“The issue at hand,” Magnus began again. “Is an issue I didn’t imagine I would have to deal with.” Each word stung and bit at his vocalizer. In his many years of function, Ultra Magnus had said more than his fair share of difficult things. This, however, proved to be one of the more difficult. 

“I’ve found, as of late, that I’m…. _attracted_ to Rodimus. Not simply in… ways I had initially been aware. My visit to the medibay left me with the knowledge that I apparently have been experiencing the physical symptoms of stress _because_ of this attraction to Rodimus. I…” He had a shocking laugh at his own expense. “I _apparently_ don’t find much comfort in sexual exploits despite other mechs insisting it’s supposed to be stress relief. Even the thought of any sort of physical contact of that nature…” 

He quickly pushed the idea out of his head, hoping to stop any processes before they onlined. 

The silence was deafening. The two mechs let it hang in the air; both processing information, both hoping to find the best solutions.

“I thought I hadn’t been programmed for this, Rung.”

“I… Excuse me?” There was such a gentle and soft curiosity that leaked into Rung’s tone, though his field was masking it easily with a warm kindness and welcoming air of understanding. 

“I was forged with purpose, I _knew_ , I had a purpose, I followed the path, I was given a new chance to not have to _deal_ with this again, I didn’t have to be Minimus Ambus, I was able to put behind Dominus and the loss and be someone who could transcend that, who didn’t have to, who could just…”

“Enforce the law?” Rung sat back a little, visibly unaffected besides the gentle embrace of his field extending. 

“…. Yes.” Magnus sighed. “Even before the took the armor, before all that, I had never… Felt this. I never wanted another mech. I never desired a courting ritual, I never was inclined to do anything other than my job. I just wanted to follow orders – which I’ll grant is hardly a simple task with the sort of things that Rodimus attempts to enforce – and keep people in line. 

“I had gone so long _without_ feeling any of this I… Had honestly been under the impression that I was unable to.” The words came easier the more he spoke, as they often did. Magnus had never truly had the intention of telling another mech that he had never experienced such things, seeing as they were often unprofessional and irrelevant. Rung, naturally, was an exception as a medical provider, but the issue remained the same. 

“Do you feel it’s a good thing?” Rung placed his own hand over his spark, soft blue light dancing between his servos. “To feel these things now?”

“No.” Magnus answered too quickly and the realization showed on his face. “Not because of Rodimus. Such emotions are unprofessional, Rung. We need to be upfront about that. There’s too much at risk with those sort of interactions. He’s a superior officer, I can’t simply _court_ him. The paperwork involved would even require his approval, and if not his _Megatron’s_.” He ached at the idea. 

“Is that the only reason?” 

He was hesitant to answer. Secrets and lies, however, bred demons. Especially on this ship.

“No. I’m not going to ignore that I’m a bit cautious about this sort of thing. A mech of my age with… no experience in these fields is uncommon. And laughable.” Despite his own opinions on the matter, he had seen the elicit behavior at _Swerve’s_ enough times to know about the abundance of sexual activity onboard. “I’d have nowhere to begin and I’d surely embarrass myself.”

He helped himself to a sealed high grade, shocking himself at an admittedly rapid consumption. If Rung thought anything of it, he said nothing of it.

“Truthfully, I… Have an approximate knowledge of many things.” Magnus held the container between two blue servos that felt less his than they had a few cycles ago. “And I find, unfortunately, I know _nothing_ about this.”


	10. Confessional Coincidence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that this is taking me literally forever; this fic will wrap up soon, with a sequel fic to follow.

Rodimus had made himself as comfortable as ever, and for once, seemed to have no problem getting right to business with Rung. He took his seat, a rust stick, a drink, and for once, had no problem letting the issues spill forth. 

 

“Rung, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” 

 

The doctor took his seat, smiling gently at Rodimus’s eagerness.

 

“About what, Rodimus?” Rung adjusted his glasses, watching Rodimus take a moment to help himself to an energon candy. 

 

“Magnus!” He retorted, as if it were the most obvious thing he could have gone to Rung for help for. “Like, I _thought_ things were going well after we went out for drinks, I mean, you should have _seen_ him Rung! I’ve never heard a mech vent so hard just from seeing a full polish, and he…. He looks _really_ good with the color in his faceplates. But then, he’s been avoiding me, and after the drinks….”

 

Rung crossed his legs, resting his elbow on his knee, chin in his palm as he listened. Rodimus put the can of high grade back on the table, taking a moment to collect himself. Usually he took a little longer to get going but he hadn’t been able to shake the purchases he’d made after they had gone out drinking. 

 

“After the drinks, I woke up in my habisuite. I’m pretty sure nothing happened, but I woke up in my habisuite. Obviously, alone.” He felt himself relax despite that Rung remained unchanged. “Apparently, when I was still charged, I went out and bought a bunch of stuff from the mechs onboard? I have _no idea_ who I talked to or who I bought the stuff from.”

 

“What sort of things did you buy, Rodimus?” 

 

He groaned, holding his helm in his hand. “Paints. Poetry. Candies… High grade…. I bought scrap for _courting_ and I have no idea if Ultra Magnus has any idea that I did it. Because like, if he does, and _that’s_ why he’s avoiding me, what am I supposed to do!?”

 

“Rodimus, you know I can’t tell you what to do.”

 

“Right, okay, I know, but what am I supposed to do, Rung?” He felt his fans kick on, running hot from the stress. The speedster was unsure that he’d ever felt himself run hot over something that wasn’t related to interfacing. Though, this was, in a way, tied back to interfacing. 

 

“Well, Rodimus. You know what my advice would be, if I were able to give it to you.”

 

“Talk to him.” Rodimus grumbled, finding that most of the time, Rung’s suggestions to problems were to _talk_ about them for some reason. The last time Rodimus had made the effort to talk to Magnus, he had gotten so drunk that he had no idea what they’d talked about. 

 

“It’s not supposed to present itself as a problem, Rodimus.”

 

“I just don’t know what I _said_!” He leaned forward, both hands on his helm now, nearly caught between his own legs. “I could have just told him everything Rung! He might know, he might have turned me down, he might have walked me around the ship and let me buy that stuff, and I have no idea!” 

 

Rodimus felt the gentle pressure of Rung’s hand between his shoulders, glancing up to seeing he’d closed the space between them to better comfort him. He hated that Rung’s smile was soothing and as comforting as it was. 

 

“Rodimus,” Rung spoke gently. “I know that you’ve been having struggles with this for some time.” He small orange mech took a seat beside the Co-Captain. “I don’t imagine that if you were to bear yourself to Magnus, that he would ever dare react with cruelty. I can’t say if he will or won’t reject you, but I know that he would never do either with the intention of hurting you, Rodimus. I realize that you’ve got a lot of concerns that aren’t exactly about him, but… I think, if you talk to him, maybe without engex, you two could make strides.”

 

In truth, he wasn’t that surprised to hear a suggestion like that from Rung. It was par the course, it was what he’d come to expect. Hearing it always felt nice, it always put the idea at the forefront of his mind, but Rung always made it sound _easy_ and it was never as easy as he said. At least, it never felt easy. While Rodimus could typically talk a mech into stasis, talking to mechs about important stuff wasn’t entirely his forte. He did have Drift write all of his speeches after all; for some reason, he couldn’t exactly bring himself to ask Drift to write him scripts for seducing his Second-in-Command. 

 

“Yeah, I know.” Rodimus admitted defeatedly. “It’s just like, if I mess up, it’s not like either of us can get away from each other, you know? Like, we’re on this ship together, and even if he tried to leave again…” 

 

“But you’ve convinced him to stay, before any of these thoughts, these feelings, before any of them were on the table. I can’t imagine that you being honest, you bringing up these feelings, might interfere with that choice.”

 

“...do you really think that? I mean, that he’d stay otherwise. He comes here, I know you can’t tell me about what he says or anything, but if the version of Magnus you know would react that way…”

 

“We know the same Magnus, I assure you.” Rung’s touch was so light as he gently patted his shoulders and made his way back to his seat, smiling as he helped himself to one of his candies. “And we both know that he would be kind to you about this sort of thing.”

 

Rung pointedly rubbed his own palm. “I absolutely understand these fears of rejection, your fear of things changing: these feelings are _reasonable_ , Rodimus. You’ve experienced things that make this the most rational reaction to what’s happened. But I stand by my opinion-”

 

“Right. Just talk to him.” 

 

Rodimus sighed, leaning back and tilting his head over the back of his seat, pinching the bridge of his nose between two servos. Talking to Magnus was something he did almost constantly and it had hardly been a problem -or at least this kind of problem- until recently. 

 

“So I just talk to him, yeah?” Rodimus let his hand drop to his side. “I just, go and talk to him about what happened. I just…. Subtly ask if maybe hit on him, or tried to initiate courting.”

 

“Whatever you feel is right, Rodimus. I can’t tell you what to do.”

 

“... can I say what I want to do?”

 

“If you couldn’t, I wouldn’t be of much help.”

 

“I want to invite him to my habisuite, and I want to paint him, Rung. I want to blend the blues into his armor and make him slaggin’ shine… I want to just stop beating around the bush and trying to be sneaky and scared! I want to just sit down and be honest about my feelings, and I… I guess I want him to have them too.”

 

“Well,” Rung said softly. “If that’s what you want to do, I think you would be good to do it.”a


	11. A Little Less Time To Think

There was nothing more surprising than Magnus finding that, for once, he was actually being summoned to the Co-Captain’s office. Typically, similar actions meant that things were going from bad to worse, and he had no reason to believe this situation was truly any different. With a short approval code, the door to Rodimus’s office slid aside, welcoming in the ex-enforcer. 

“Rodimus.” He announced himself with his usual flair, striding into the office before playing comfortably into a parade rest in front of his desk.

“Oh! Magnus, uh, what’re you doing here?” Rodimus fumbled with something in his desk, the audible clatter of glass almost drowning out his voice.

“... You requested my presence.” Magnus clenched his servos behind his back, a bit frustrated that apparently Rodimus has _already_ forgotten why he had called the larger mech in.

“Right!” Rodimus chuckled, putting his hand to the side of his helm. Magnus unfortunately recognized this behavior in Rodimus - he was nervous. It wasn’t terribly like Rodimus to wear his stress on his sleeves, he typically pushed that all aside until he spoke to Rung. “Right, I called you here.”

Ultra Magnus let the silence hang in the air as Rodimus gathered his thoughts. Patience was something he’d been told to us with Rodimus, and it felt as though this could be the moment. They were shockingly alone, Magnus had this moment to actually talk to Rodimus about everything. Rung had been gently suggesting he take the steps to talk to Rodimus about his divergence from his programming, and this might have been the best chance he was going to get. 

It slowly dawned on Magnus that Drift hadn’t been summoned to this meeting. 

It only made things worse. 

“So, I called you here to talk about something important.”

“I would hope so.” He said gently, aware that his typical timbre could be misconstrued as aggression. He had to be cautious, he had to watch his steps. 

“Yeah.” Rodimus tapped his fingers on his desk, staring vacantly into the carvings. “I’ve, uh, been talking with Rung, like everyone else on the ship. He’s been trying to help me get better with communications, so I called you here to talk about some things.”

Magnus wanted to be more upset that rodimus was hitting around the bush so heavily, but he had to respect that he was actually making an effort. Rodimus was trying, and he had to be patient. Rung said he needed to work on it. 

“What did you wish to discuss?

“You know how we went out for drinks at Swerve’s?”

“I recall.” Magnus felt a soft burn in his face plate.

“Right, so… Did you walk me back to my habsuite?” Magnus could feel Rodimus hastily retract his field when shame started to seep into it. Rodimus had been known for his share of benders, of waking up in another mech’s berth, of forgetting where he had been the night before; Magnus couldn’t really blame him for indulging. He would have indulged himself, given some difference circumstances. Well, he might not have indulged, but he certainly understood the appeal. 

“I insisted,” Magnus admitted, retracting his own field as his pride poured out. A part of him still enjoyed protecting Rodimus; he might not have been a hot headed hot rod anymore, but it was clear that _someone_ had to be taking care of the speedster. “You were a bit… Assertive in asking me to stay, but given your intoxicated state, I left. As far as I’m aware, you recharged some time after that.”

“I didn’t.” Rodimus groaned, leaning back in his seat. The wheels of a drawer whined in protest as Rodimus opened his desk, slowly aligning a series of small, glass bottles in a line on his desk. Magnus felt a twinge in his spark, first for realizing that the bottles were politely arranged by color, second noticing that they were in fact bottles of pigment. 

Magnus felt his intake bob. Magnus felt his processor start to swim, drowning in questions and queries that his glossa and vocalizer failed to put together. Carefully, perfectly aligned bottles of pigment - too small to have been designed for detailing, too small to be for a repaint, a few fluid ounces designed for temporary paint jobs. Carefully, perfectly aligned bottles of pigment that were supposed to be used for part of a courting process. 

Rodimus sighed, leaning forward and steeping his servos, optics locked on the bottles on his desk.

“Sometime after you left, I apparently got a hold of someone else on board, and I bought these.”

“I… I see.” 

“I bought it drunk, but I…” Rodimus hesitated, and in that moment, Magnus was never more certain, for once he just wanted Rodimus to keep talking. “I want you to know something. I… I want you to know that I had wanted to buy them before then.” 

A hard ex-vent was the only thing that kept Magnus from collapsing and offlining. 

Rodimus, Rodimus Prime, Hot Rod, a young speedster with an affinity for hot rod flames and high grade, had purchased paint to use to court with him.

“You’re… interested in bonding with me?” 

The sparkle in Rodimus’s optics was enough to melt the load bearer’s spark. Rodimus _was_ speaking, and for once Magnus was trying to listen to his excited ramblings, but there was a soft ringing in his audials that was making it somewhat difficult to hear anything. He stepped forward, putting out his hand and attempting to clear his processor and form the words to explain himself - at least a little. 

“I-I mean, I’ve been trying to figure out what to do for _ages_ , I thought you would have caught on when I made you second-in-command after Drift bought the ship and I thought I was even more obvious with all the flirting, but-”

Every other sound faded away when Rodimus tightly clasped his hand between his own, and his voice softened.

“Magnus, I couldn’t imagine bonding with anyone else.”

He felt his face plates burn at the confession, glossa heavy now that emotions were on the table. Magnus didn’t specialize in these sort of dialogues but it seemed like Rodimus was content to talk if he wasn’t going to. 

“I-I bought all this stuff when I was overcharged but I _wanted_ to buy it and it sounds a little unlike me but I was super nervous that you weren’t going to say yes and-”

Of all the things that Ultra Magnus was, impulsive was not one of them. 

Though, there were times when a little bit of impulsiveness went appreciated. If anyone who could appreciate a bit of impulsiveness, it was Rodimus after all. While everything in his program insisted on planning more than one step ahead, there was an unparalleled satisfaction in stealing a kiss from his Captain - a mech, realistically, he should have never been making advances on or accepting them from. 

Neither mech had been aware that a kiss could blow a biolight, but both lights that framed Rodimus’s helm flickered and burst in the short moment before they broke apart. 

Magnus, overwhelmed with his own unplanned decision, was a bit too disoriented to follow up with a statement. Any condescending wit, any light taunt, and soft nicety, it was all too scrambled to process. Rodimus grinned, lightly biting his lip before pressing their helms together. 

“So, I’ll uh, take that as a yes?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much y'all for sticking around through all this!
> 
> this'll end up getting a sequel fic once i finish 'Saline and Solutions,' and probably some one shots inbetween.


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